


Where Are You?

by PumpkinWrites



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, During The V7 Finale, Gen, M/M, Nuts and Volts Week (RWBY), Nuts and Volts Week 2020, nuts and volts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:26:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22690204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinWrites/pseuds/PumpkinWrites
Summary: Tyrian makes it to the rendez-vous point after his altercation with Qrow and Clover. But where is the good doctor?
Relationships: Tyrian Callows/Arthur Watts
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31
Collections: Nuts and Volts Week 2020





	Where Are You?

He’s not sure how long he’s been running through the shin-deep snow, the smell of Ironwood’s pet’s blood still fresh in his mind (and in his nose, really, the blood itself is still drying on his hands -- what he hasn’t already _licked_ off of them, anyhow!), and the adrenaline still rushing through his veins, but he sees the rendez-vous in the distance. He’s nearly there!

( _copper and fear and death and the unhinged despair of ironwood’s little bird! the sweetness of his anguished scream still ringing in his ears! he had almost sworn that he could still feel his own poison coursing through qrow branwen’s liquor-thinned blood!_ )

The rendez-vous point is a Schnee stockyard. Raw dust is stored here on its way to be processed, but it isn’t a mine. There’s plenty of structures and stacks of crates containing carefully-packed, raw dust to cover behind, and there’s of course vehicles to steal or hide in, even a few unlocked buildings! It’s perfect! A bit of a _gift_ from Jacques Schnee _himself_ , allegedly.

( _spineless sniveling insect that he is_ )

Tyrian had joked, when Arthur had told him about their meeting place, that they should perhaps consider sending Mr. Schnee a _lovely_ thank-you card for his generosity. Arthur hadn’t laughed, not really. That was fine, he’d just gone to sleep on the sofa instead after that. And taken the comforter with him, of course.

Speaking of comforters…

( _too cold_ )

He’s _cold_ . It’s _freezing_ out here. Well, he really should’ve worn his coat, but it just got in the _way_ sometimes while he was hunting. Or it was just something to be grabbed and manipulated against him: no thank you. And besides, he won’t be out here much longer, he’s sure of it. He rounds a corner, ducking into a cluster of loaded crates in varyingly-sized stacks. It’s good enough cover from the wind, and he’s got a rather good view of the empty space around him.

But Arthur’s tracking signal hasn’t shown up on his scroll’s radar yet. He’s not on the property.

( _he’s coming_ )

No problem, he’ll just wait for him, that’s fine. And, of course, maybe he’ll do a little bragging about being the first one to the rendez-vous point when the good doctor finally shows up: he finds it funny that for once _he’s_ early and _Arthur’s_ late to something. It’s never a bad time to brag! Especially not when their plans are going _so well_!

( _he’s not coming_ )

Of course he’s coming. Don’t be absurd.

“Oh dear doctor~” the hunter chimes into the wind, or, rather, into his comm. line, once he brings his scroll up and opens the line for use. He lounges across the top of a crate after brushing a good half a foot of snow from the top of it, letting his tail dangle off the side and looking not unlike a teenager on the phone with a school friend, or a little _crush_ . “Did you let me get here first? I’m _touched_ ! How _sweet_ of you!”

Dead air from the other end of the line.

“… helloooo~?”

Nothing.

Seconds pass. Minutes. More minutes than he feels should pass without at _least_ a check-in of some kind.

( _he’s coming_ )

Tyrian frowns briefly, but decides on a different approach. He drizzles a pout over his next words, idly twisting a loose lock of brown hair around one clawed finger as he calls out over the communication line again. “Hmm~ This is so rude. You know, I haven’t eaten any apples today, doctor, why are you staying away from me~?”

Not even a groan. That’s fine, his partner is probably just still busy with Amity: he’s sure it’s _quite_ a _project_ if the good doctor can’t even _check in_ with him.

( _he’ll be here soon_ )

And so, he waits. Stays spread out on top of the crate while he does, turning over onto his stomach and letting his feet kick back and forth a little in the air behind him. It’s getting steadily lighter, he notices now. The sun’s rising. Well, it’s fitting that this new dawn will bring with it a world where Ironwood’s losing friends and chess pieces and _sanity_ , he’s sure, at an alarming rate, anyway. How long has he been sitting here?

( _too long_ )

“Rrrrrrrgh... where _are_ you?” Tyrian finally growls as he leaps up into a predatory crouch on top of his crate, tail whipping back and forth in irritation behind him as he spits, frustrated, into his earpiece. “If we’re _late_ She’ll be _furious_.”

Still nothing.

( _he’s coming_ )

The hunter sighs, but then giggles a little to himself as he drops back down to sit on the very edge of the crate. Amity must be putting up _quite_ a _fight_ ! Or maybe there was still security at the tower, and Ironwood had tricked them. Perhaps left a few measly soldiers there to slow Arthur down, oh maybe his other _attack dogs_ . After all, Qrow Branwen and his little friend had been a surprise when _he’d_ shown up to take out Robyn Hill.

( _no, it can’t be the other little mongrels, he definitely saw them in mantle_ )

Oh, but it’s fine. It’s fine! This is just fine! Arthur can handle himself! He can _certainly_ handle a few of Ironwood’s little _toys_! He’s done it before! There’s nothing to worry about!

He’s not sure how long he continues to sit there, kicking his feet above the snowy ground and flicking his tail and brushing off snow and waiting for the doctor to answer, before the sky dims again, not as if it’s been a full day already, but as if it’s… blocked. Tyrian looks up in slight confusion, before gold eyes pop wide at the shadow above. He can’t really make it out clearly, of course, but the familiar, heavy, _intoxicating_ sense of _death_ and _destruction_ and _despair_ that the shadow brings, why, it can only be…

( **_G O D D E S S_ **)

“… oh, She’s _here!_ I _see_ Her!” Tyrian cheers giddily into his earpiece, regarding the massive shadow. He cackles into the arctic air as he hops down off of his crate and looks in wonder up at the sky.

( **_B L E S S E D_ **)

He crumples in the snow, overwhelmed with the sight, hitting his knees hard against the layer of either ice or permafrost beneath it, letting his aura flicker out briefly in his emotional state. He can feel himself starting to weep, feels the tears of pure, unbridled _joy_ running down his cheeks as he regards, as best he can with limited vision, the breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly _beautiful_ sight above him. “… oh, She’s _glorious!_ ”

( _glorious! positively magnificent! indescribable and unrivaled in sheer, suffocating, overwhelming beauty! atlas is unworthy to witness Her! they should be grateful that She permits it! ironwood should be thankful to die by Her hand!_ )

But even despite his own laughter, despite the tears he feels freezing to his face in the arctic air, the wind howling in his ears and the distant cries of his Queen’s creatures high above the tundra, high above even the floating city, he notices one thing.

( _“little deathstalker”_ )

He still can’t hear his partner’s voice. _Surely_ he can see this from Amity. He _must_ be able to see this, mustn’t he?

“… Arthur?”

( _he’s not coming_ )

But… there’s been _nothing_ on the other end of the line. Nothing at all. No quiet, amused chuckling. No hissed curses for him to _shut up, I’m trying to concentrate_. No distress calls, or emergency signals. There’s… been nothing.

Not a word.

( _he’s not coming_ )

“… do you hear me?”

Tyrian’s laughter finally quiets down, and his smile starts to fall as the realization hits him, hard and cold like the arctic air. He’s heard _nothing_. Gotten no texts, no calls…

( _he’s not coming_ )

Something isn’t right with this. He has a bad feeling. He never has bad feelings, but this is a bad feeling. He should be overjoyed! He should be positively _euphoric_ in the presence of their Goddess.

But where is

( _smiling over a cup of tea, watching the doctor work tirelessly on his new tail, staying perfectly still as the doctor fits metal plates over brown chitin, peering feverishly up at his caretaker while his body fights a horrid infection, whispered promises and sweet words and lingering kisses exchanged in the blood red glow of dawn at the castle…_ )

“… Arthur?”

( _hands and tongues and nails and teeth drawn over every part of his body -- and of his partner’s, bites and marks dark against his own skin and even darker against the doctor’s, Hazel looking away from them like he doesn’t notice and Cinder curling her lip in unacknowledged disgust_ …)

The tears keep flowing, but he doesn’t know if they’re for joy or sorrow now. Nor is he really certain whether he’s actually addressing the other end of the communication line anymore.

( _not coming not coming not coming not coming not coming not_ )

“… where are you…”

**Author's Note:**

> I HAD THIS IDEA BEFORE WE FOUND OUT WATTS WAS ALIVE!
> 
> That being said, angst is my wheelhouse and I'm glad it was one of today's prompts.


End file.
